


philza batman (or: the knights of sleepy city)

by bluesandbirds



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Batman, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Family Dynamics, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Philza Minecraft is Bruce Batman, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27289555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesandbirds/pseuds/bluesandbirds
Summary: Phil Craft never intended to become a hero. It’s something that just happened. Sleepy City needed a hero, so he answered her call.He never intended to be a father, either, but once again, his city had other plans.
Relationships: Callum Knight & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Floris | Fundy & Phil Watson, Imane Anys & Phil Watson, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 58
Kudos: 513





	philza batman (or: the knights of sleepy city)

**Author's Note:**

> starring:  
> philza minecraft/hardcore as bruce wayne/batman  
> wilbur soot/silvertongue as dick grayson/nightwing  
> technoblade/the blood god as jason todd/red hood  
> fundy/the fox as tim drake/red robin  
> pokimane/poki as stephanie brown/spoiler  
> tommyinnit/sleepy boy as damian wayne/robin  
> callum/seapeekay as duke thomas/the signal  
> sophietexas is sort of the barbara gordan here and minx is sort of cassandra cain and schlatt is kinda wally west/kid flash, but they don't fit as cleanly into the characters  
> also, jordan/the captain as clark kent/superman, niki/nihachu as kara kent/supergirl, the eret as connor "kon" kent/superboy, and tubbo as jon kent/also superboy but smaller
> 
> I'm just going to assume everybody knows the basics of Batman (orphan, rich guy, is vengence and the night) sorry if you don't

It starts with a concert.

Well, maybe not there exactly. Maybe it starts before that.

In an alley with a gun and a string of pearls. Or maybe it starts at a funeral with a young boy watching two caskets being lowered. Or maybe even after that when that young boy—a young man now—runs off, spending five years learning to fight and another five learning to survive.

It's definitely started when he returns to his city, older, wiser, and stronger. When he greets faces from a lifetime ago with a practiced smile and an answer of _oh, just around, how about you?_ (When he puts on a mask and billowing black and sets his sights on the night.)

Philza Craft might be the most famous figure in Sleepy City. More famous than the mayor, and the local news reporter, and the guy that ended up on national television for dying in a video game. 

He's the city's Prodigal Son and Prince, the sole heir to Craft Enterprises, a billion dollar company left to him after his parents' deaths. When he left the city during his teen years, it was a scandal only rivaled by his uproarious homecoming.

Of course, the Craft name isn't his only claim to fame.

The papers called him _Hardcore_ when he first emerged, a title that stuck to this day. 

_Our hero_ , some say.

 _A monster_ , others shout.

 _Dangerous vigilante_ , the police denounce.

 _An angel_ , a survivor whispers.

Hardcore is the hero Sleepy City deserves, but not the one it needs. Still, he does what he must.

Phil's mission isn't a realistic one. One man cannot take on all the corruption and violence in a city like Sleepy. He knows it's very likely he'll die for it. But after seeing all the horrors his city has to offer, he doesn't care. He'll rest when there are no more little boys crying over bodies in an alley. When the sunset means a pretty view instead of _walk faster_. When the city lives up to its name.

Phil Craft and Hardcore are the same in that neither have any more to live for than the betterment of their beautiful, toxic city.

So, of course, that brings us to the concert.

* * *

It's a rare day off for him.

Philza Craft is attending a concert by himself at the local theatre. 

If he had his choice, he'd be at his base, poring over business deals and police reports, but alas, life doesn't always go as one plans.

His close friends have been pestering him to _Get out of the mansion, live a little, justice isn't going to keep you warm at night._ And the news sites have been muttering _23 and the most eligible bachelor in the world, you'd think he'd get out more_ , so he's sitting in Seat B22 and praying that the music's at least good.

Lucky for him, the music is lovely and people pay more attention to it than the billionaire trying not to look out of place in the mezzanine.

The performers on stage are a couple in their thirties, looking dopily in love as the woman sings and the man strums his guitar. 

They finish the song and bow as the audience begins to clap.

He hears a slight commotion at the back of the theatre, but he pays it no mind as he politely joins the applause.

Then:

_BANG! BANG! BANGBANGBANG!_

There’s screams from the crowd.

Chaos arises as some people duck under their chairs while others leap across rows in a race to get out.

When Phil can finally see past the sea of bodies, his heart drops in his chest.

On the stage, there are two slumped over figures.

A little boy runs out from the wings.

“Mum! Dad!”

He shakes the bodies, but only reveals the growing pools of blood underneath.

The boy looks up with tears streaming down his red face.

Big brown eyes. A mop of brown hair.

They make eye contact.

Somewhere in the universe, something clicks in place.

Wilbur, is the boy's name, and he's 12.

He's in shock and he hasn't stopped crying, so Philza wraps him in his heavy black coat and holds him through it all. He doesn't seem to care that Phil is a stranger, just that he's safe, and warm, and _there._

When the police come, Wilbur clings to him and Phil doesn't ever dream of letting him go.

(Spoiler alert: he doesn't.)

He gently sets the boy in the backseat of a police cruiser, letting him keep his coat, and smiles until the window rolls up and he's staring at his own face. The car drives away.

Philza Craft is 23 and the world's most eligible bachelor. He's never been interested in kids before. He's not cut out to be a father.

The boy's eyes (wide, scared). His small hands (trembling, covered in his parents' blood). How he wouldn't let go of Phil, even when the police commissioner himself nudged him away.

Hardcore swore an oath to protect the innocents in Sleepy City. Tonight, he failed. But maybe, it's not too late for that boy.

Large, steady hands pull his phone out of his pocket. He has some calls to make.

Wilbur moves into Craft Manor three days after his parents' deaths. 

It takes a very long time for him to open up. He's quiet and untrusting and angry at the world. It almost scares Phil, all the spaces where he sees his younger self staring back at him.

He should have remembered that at that age he was also curious and had very little regard for anyone's privacy but his own.

He's just returned from patrol, quietly shutting the hidden door behind the old grandfather clock in his office, when the lights suddenly flick on. Phil whips around, and there, with his eyebrows furrowed and hair mussed from sleep, is Wilbur.

"What's up with you?" the boy asks.

This throws Phil for a loop because, for the month that Wilbur has been staying with him, the boy had been nothing but polite—saying please, and thank you, and _no problem, Mr. Craft_. 

"I can explain," he says, not really sure that he can.

Wilbur glares. "You better. You're so suspicious. The newspapers think you're a big, blond airhead, but you don't act like you do in the interviews. And don't think I haven't noticed all the disappearing at night. That's why I came here, to stake you out, but now I catch you climbing in through some secret tunnel. You're a real weirdo, Mr. Craft."

Phil sighs. "You might want to sit down for this, son."

And so he tells him. He tells him about the gun, and the pearls, and the alley. About the five years training under expert warriors and assassins. About the five years in the wild, putting himself to the test. About coming home and seeing it to be just as ugly and evil as it was when he left.

When he's done, Wilbur looks up at him with something unfamiliar in his eyes. There's a spark there, one that Phil didn't even know Wilbur possessed. 

"Teach me," he says.

Phil blinks. "What?"

"Teach me to be like you. A hero."

Phil immediately shakes his head. "No."

"But—"

"No, no, no, no, no." He waves his hands around. "No way."

Wilbur frowns, getting up in his face. "Why? Why not?"

"Because it's too dangerous," Phil says, "Because you're too young."

"But I wasn't too young to watch my parents die!"

There's a beat of silence. Phil doesn't know how to answer that.

Wilbur angrily wipes at his face. "I don't care that it's dangerous. You do it every night. You're a hero." Then, quieter. "I don't want to feel helpless anymore, Phil."

And Phil sighs because truly, they are too, too alike.

"Okay," he says softly, praying he's not dooming this boy even more. "Okay, I will."

For the first time since they met, Wilbur smiles.

* * *

It's not something that happens overnight. Wilbur doesn't don a cape and start fighting crime. It's not a fairytale _Phil waves a magic wand and the boy becomes a hero,_ it's an unforgiving, arduous process. They train over the course of six months. 

During these months, Wilbur learns to punch and to take a punch. He kicks, and rolls, and claws, and flips. _He flies._

He enrolls in Sleepy Preparatory Academy and makes friends with some nice kids: Charlie, Jack, David, Dan.

He labors over old case files, swallows reflexive emotions to analyze the most gruesome of crime scene photos.

He stops with the _it's no problem, Mr. Craft's_ and starts with the _wanna watch me eat sand, Phil's?_

He digs a bullet out of Hardcore's shoulder and stitches it back up with steady hands.

He finally picks up the old guitar that has been haunting the corner of his room.

Over the course of six months, Phil grows to love this boy.

It's also not something that happens suddenly. It doesn't hit him in the middle of the night. It builds over days and days of training sessions, report cards, sprained ankles, and fast food lunches.

He knew he liked the kid—his humor, his wit, his chaos—but he wasn't ready to feel this warmth in his chest. The smile that pulls at his lips whenever Wilbur smiles.

He wasn't ready to be a dad. But, now, staring at his boy in a costume he designed himself, mask in-hand and stance ready, he's never felt so proud.

Sleepy Boy is a surprise to everyone.

Civilians and criminals alike gape at the small, caped figure trailing behind the imposing _Dark Angel_ of Sleepy City. His friend Jordan, known to the public as The Captain, calls him to sit in shocked silence for two minutes.

Hardcore shrugs, it makes his job easier if the bad guys are standing still.

 _His training's paid_ off, Phil notes, watching Sleepy Boy take down three men twice his size. _His boy's a hero._

Wilbur loves it, he spends each night whooping and cheering as he soars between rooftops, never wanting to return to the ground. And the city loves him back. 

They become iconic. _The Dynamic Duo._ Hardcore and Sleepy Boy. They're the most popular Halloween costumes. People draw Hardcore and Sleepy Boy fan art. They're the headline of the newspaper every morning.

Wilbur flourishes outside of Sleepy Boy too. His school friends are over every week, cackling at video games and internet posts. He's the darling of Sleepy City's media, such a charismatic and eloquent young man. He even teams up with other sidekicks on occasion, making friends as easy as breathing.

_“These are just a prototype, but if they work, I should be able to fly across rooftops. I call them elytra like the wings of a beetle.”_

_“Then should people call you the Dark Beetle instead of the Dark Angel?”_

_“That doesn’t exactly strike fear into the hearts of criminals.”_

_“And the tights do?”_

_“Listen here you little shit…”_

-

_"There's someone trailing us."_

_"Yeah, I see her. Female. Around your age. Somewhat trained. Wearing a mask."_

_"I got this."_

_..._

_"She doesn't have a hero name yet, but we're working on that. Her real name is Sophie and we're gonna have a sleepover tomorrow."_

_"...What?"_

-

_"This is for you."_

_"What is it?"_

_"A card. God, I knew you were getting old, but it's right in front of you."_

_"Quiet, child."_

_"Just read it."_

_"..."_

_"Happy Fathers' Day, Phil."_

But all little boys have to grow up and his boy is no exception.

Wilbur sheds Sleepy Boy, growing into his own as _Silvertongue_.

He's 17 when moves to the city of L'Manburg with two friends.

Wilbur Soot-Craft is there to attend college and pursue a degree.

Silvertongue is there to protect the previously hero-less city from a rising villain organization.

_"Who's going to be there again? The Captain's daughter, Nihachu, and your friend... what do they call him?"_

_Wilbur sighs. "It's something different every day, just call him Schlatt."_

Phil lets him go with a proud smile and a heavy heart.

* * *

It's a typical patrol night. (That is, of course, until it isn't.)

Hardcore turns a corner into an alley and has to blink twice to take in the sight before him.

The two goons he was previously chasing are on the ground groaning in pain. Standing over them is a small child with a red blanket around his neck and a wooden sword. There are no adults around. The boy’s face is dirty. The boy’s eyes are fierce.

A little voice in his head says _Here we go again_.

The new Sleepy Boy hits the streets with a reception unlike his predecessor. Where Wilbur encouraged witty banter, Techno as Sleepy Boy encourages screams of fear. It’s a strange sight to see grown mobsters flee from a 13 year old in tights, but understandable once you get a look at the determination of his face and the way he wields his blade.

(The edges are dulled, of course, Techno's sword isn't meant to cut but leaves nasty bruises. After all, Hardcore's number one rule is _no killing._ He's not irresponsible enough to give a teenager a real sword. He didn't want to give him _any_ type of sword, but Techno is stubborn and a force to be reckoned with when he sets his mind on something.)

Techno has an intensity that doesn't just apply to his time as Sleepy Boy. His newest son tackles every task with his full force.

He excels in school. Wilbur wasn't a poor student, but Techno goes above and beyond, his teachers practically raving during parent-teacher conferences. (During these conferences Techno always looks uncomfortable and embarrassed and Phil tries really hard to contain his proud beam for his son's sake.)

However, Techno also struggles in areas where Wilbur didn't. Wilbur made friends wherever he went whether it was as Wilbur Soot-Craft or Sleepy Boy. Techno, on the other hand, is awkward and unsure of himself in social situations. He prefers video games and Sun Tzu to sleepovers and talk show interviews.

Phil doesn't mind so much, after all, it just means more bonding time for the two of them.

_"Techno? Are you okay?"_

_"Mm fine. Les"—sniff —"go already."_

_"You feel warm."_

_"M not."_

_"You're sick."_

_"No."_

_"Sleepy will be fine for one night. Let's stay in. A chill night. Just us two."_

_"Will you read me_ The Art of War _?"_

_"Of course, son."_

Wilbur comes home only a few times during Techno's tenure as Sleepy Boy, much more invested in his own city and team than in the one he left behind.

During one of these visits, the three heroes stay out on patrol until dawn.

Phil, being the responsible adult he is, gives Techno the day off school and buys three Sleepy Meals for his family.

The three of them sit on the top of a skyscraper, watching the little blobs on the pavement move about their days, munching down greasy fries and nuggets at the same time.

Wilbur is the one to break the silence.

"We need a team name."

"A wot?" Phil asks, mouth full of food.

"A team name. Schlatt used to be part of the Lunch Club, and they call Niki and her dad and brothers the Strawberry City Superfamily, so what are we?"

Techno, ever the smart guy, says, "I feel like you're only asking this because you already have one in mind."

Wilbur grins. "Sleepy Boys Incorporated," he says proudly, "Sleepy Boys Inc. for short."

"Why Sleepy Boys? I was here first."

Techno smirks. "Yeah, but we outnumber you."

He and Wilbur high five.

Phil clutching his chest, faking betrayal. "My own sons ganging up on me."

The words settle in the cool morning air. 

_His sons._

A goofy smile spreads across his face.

_His sons._

Techno only advances in his training, pulling off the most difficult of acrobatics after only a few attempts and executing sword attacks with perfect form. (The only thing his son completely and utterly fails at is talking to civilians as evidenced by the multiple quotes of his in the newspaper which read _No, don't cry. Um—shit—everything is going to be alright. Please stop crying. Please?_ )

Civilian mishaps aside, the second Sleepy Boy is absolutely brilliant. Victims cheer and bad guys fear when that red cape is seen against the night sky.

His son is 15 and ready to make the world bow. 

He loses Techno on a mission. 

For months afterward, he doesn't talk to anyone. He isolates himself, ignoring calls from Jordan and others in the hero community. The headlines run dry as the city wonders what happened to their Prince.

Wilbur doesn't come home once.

It's a dark, dark time.

Hardcore goes out every night, staying out longer and longer. He beats criminals until they're unrecognizable. The people he saves aren't even sure if they're any safer. The police go back to keeping one hand on their holsters.

He's spiraling down a vast, endless pit, and he isn't even sure if he wants to stop falling. 

His son is dead and Philza Craft has never had anything more to live for than his mission. 

* * *

Fundy comes knocking on his door on a sunny afternoon.

Techno has been gone for almost a year.

Phil opens the door expecting a mailman or some heedless reporter. He is not expecting the teenager standing on his doorstep with a determined frown.

"Can I help you?"

This boy looks up into his eyes and says, "I know who you are." 

_He clears his throat uncomfortably._

_"Most people do."_

_"No, I_ know _who you are. You're him. Hardcore."_

_"You've been reading too much Reddit. It's getting to your brain, kid."_

_"You can't use that on me. Adults are always trying to tell me I'm wrong when I'm not."_

_Phil sighs and looks around. "Come inside. Tell me everything."_

_Fundy gives a pleased grin and steps forward._

_"Well, I was doing some hacking..."_

And so Sleepy Boy returns.

Fundy doesn't spend as much time out in the field as his brothers did. He prefers to work behind the scenes, with screens and keyboards and data, and Phil is happy to keep it that way. 

He can be seen out on busier nights, during Nether Asylum breakouts or supervillain plots, and the papers take note of this.

 _Sleepy Boy makes an explosive comeback,_ is splashed across the news next to a picture of Fundy in his costume running out of a collapsing building.

_"It's cheesy."_

_"It's not so bad for your first headline."_

_"They totally got my bad side."_

_"You're wearing a mask."_

_Despite Fundy's protests, Phil puts the clipping up next to all of Wilbur's and Techno's. He stares proudly at the wall. A monument to all his sons' achievements._

_And slowly, the gap inside his chest feels a little less extreme._

Silvertongue comes back to town, leaving L'Manburg in the hands of Nihachu and Schlatt (though he thinks they're calling him _Beyblade_ right now).

He looks at Fundy and smiles, though his eyes hold something akin to guilt.

The two of them are close, closer than Wilbur and Techno ever got to be. Wilbur practically adopts the other boy too, jokingly calling him _son_ despite being barely four years older. He tries to not think that his eldest is overcorrecting. He tries to feel happy about it without regret coating the back of his tongue.

Fundy is more gentle and levelheaded than his predecessors. He is no less mischievous, though, a fact which Philza sorely regrets overlooking when he goes to suit up for patrol and finds his costume covered in glitter and puffy stickers. (He wears it anyways and he wears it proudly. The papers have a field day.)

But, of course, Fundy grows up before his eyes.

Maybe it's because he was older than the others when Phil took him in or because Fundy was never stuck on the Sleepy Boy title like the others, but it seems like no time at all when his third son is looking for something new.

They brainstorm names together, Wilbur throwing out a wide variety of good and awful suggestions, and Phil vetoing 90% of them.

There's a pause in the conversation between one of Wilbur's jokes when Fundy speaks quietly.

"The Fox," he says, lifting his head hopefully.

Phil and Wilbur exchange looks.

"Sounds great."

"Big pog."

And so The Fox is born.

* * *

Like Wilbur, Fundy starts a team of his own with another member of the Superfamily, his friend by the name of Eret.

It's Hardcore and Silvertongue (with occasional help from Texas—Sophie, that is—though she's got her own squad now) taking on Sleepy City together. Just like old times. Forgive Phil for being nostalgic, he is getting old after all.

His world shatters once again on a night like any other. This, like everything else, happens slowly and without him noticing where precisely it started.

He and Wilbur have been sweating over a new case unlike any they've seen before. Seven heads found in a duffel bag in a warehouse. These heads were identified as big players in major drug cartels in the city. They suspect that these are a warning, but for what purpose they are unsure.

Phil's just making his way down the stairs into their base of operations when Wilbur rushes up to him, eyes wild and hands flailing.

“You have to see this," he says.

On the large supercomputer monitor mounted on the wall, there is already a video queued up.

Wilbur hovers over the _play_ button.

"Security cam footage they just dug up." He grimaces. "It's not pretty."

It takes Phil a second to absorb what he's seeing.

Seven people, tied up in chairs and lined up in a row. 

"Those are the victims. The heads they found."

Wilbur nods.

A figure comes strolling into the scene. He has pink hair and his gait is confident. In one hand is a sword, shimmering with wicked magic and dripping with blood.

He stops in front of the first person in a chair.

His swing is deft and unfaltering.

The head hits the floor and Phil is suddenly very glad there's no sound to the video.

The man moves on to the next in line.

Wilbur chooses this time to speak, "A new player in town. They’re calling him the Blood God.”

"Fitting," Phil says, eyes glued to the screen.

"He's skilled."

"He's dangerous."

The man turns, revealing the mask strapped across his face resembling a pig snout. He stares directly in the camera and gives a wave.

The footage ends there.

He and Wilbur are on the hunt.

It's been weeks of this seemingly endless game of cat and mouse. Trying to get a handle on this man and why he makes Phil's gut twist every time they catch a glimpse. Everywhere this Blood God goes, he leaves a trail of smoking bodies. But finally, they've got him cornered.

They're on a rooftop. It's raining.

Silvertongue fell behind at some point to stop a mugging they came across. It's just him and the Blood God.

He narrowly dodges the man's sword and uses this opportunity to knock it from his hands. It clatters across the rooftop.

"Enough with the games," Hardcore shouts, "What is your goal, Blood God?"

The man might be smiling under his mask. "My goal is to do what you can't and actually rid this city of criminal scum. Permanently."

"By killing?"

"By exterminating," the Blood God says firmly.

"Why do you get to decide who lives and who dies?"

The man laughs and something about it tugs at Phil's mind.

"Who are you?" Hardcore growls.

"You really don't know?" He stares at Phil contemplatively before shrugging. "Fine, it was getting a bit tired anyways."

The pig mask hits the ground. A strike of lightning illuminates the rooftop.

Standing before him is a dream. A nightmare. A fantasy.

“Techno?” The name falls from Phil’s lips, barely a whisper, a ghost.

That crooked smirk so endearing on a little boy, turned impossibly cruel on this unfamiliar man.

“Hey, Dad.”

“How?” Years of training are the only thing keeping him collapsing on the spot. 

“You should have known, Techno Blade never dies.” Another strike of lighting.

Techno is gone.

His son is 18 and ready to make the world pay.

* * *

But suddenly, there's no time to worry about his prodigal son because Wilbur comes home one day, dragging an angry, shouty boy behind by his collar.

The boy, after much prodding and bribery, reveals that his name is Tommy, he's twelve years old, and no, he wasn't stealing from that man, it was really his fault for getting scammed by a preteen.

Phil sighs, massaging his temples. "Where are your parents?"

Tommy scowls (it's kind of adorable) and crosses his arms over his chest. "Don't have none," he says.

Phil makes eye contact with his oldest son over Tommy's head. Wilbur has a look in his eye that tells him to prepare the spare room.

Tommy—while hostile and entirely unimpressed with Phil Craft and Wilbur Soot-Craft—is elated upon the discovery of Hardcore and Silvertongue.

He demands they teach him to be awesome and badass like them.

The two men laugh and ruffle his hair. (Secretly, Phil is scared.)

It takes a lot of shouting and pouting, but they compromise.

Hardcore and Silvertongue will teach Tommy how to fight, but he will not don the Sleepy Boy mantle. Not while Techno is still roaming the streets as the Blood God. Not while Tommy is failing maths class.

Tommy learning to fight will be good for him. Self-defense. Tommy Innit-Craft is a big target for scumbags looking for ransom from the richest man in the city. This is a good choice, Phil tries to convince himself. (He's afraid that the rush, the euphoria of the mission will get its claws in and Tommy will never, ever want to let it go.)

Tommy has a talent for combat that reminds Phil of Techno. Where Wilbur's strength lies in his words and charisma, and Fundy in his technological prowess, Tommy and Techno both have a spark that comes out when tested on the battlefield.

He looks at a crime scene photo of three new mutilated bodies, the work of his wayward son, and tells himself that's where the similarities end.

* * *

The first Sleepy Girl is kind of a fluke. 

One day, Tommy comes home from school with a torn blazer and carrying a bleeding girl instead of a backpack.

Of course, Hardcore and the rest of Sleepy Boys Inc. aren't the only heroes in the world. They aren't even the only heroes in Sleepy City. Plenty of small-time heroes have cropped up, hoping to follow in Hardcore's footsteps as a city legend. These typically only lasted one or two nights until they gave up.

Phil generally didn't pay much attention to these miscellaneous vigilantes. That was, until his youngest son brought one home with him.

Poki had been a whisper in Sleepy City for a while. A shadow of a masked girl taking down muggers and rapists in alleyways, leaving behind broken bones and bruises. None of Sleepy Boys Inc. had encountered her during patrols, so they didn't think too much of the other vigilante.

Tommy slips in through the entrance to the hideout instead of entering through the Manor's front gate, and that's Phil's first clue that something is wrong. His second is that when he comes downstairs, Tommy's loud voice can be heard coming from the medbay area. The third is that when he steps in the medbay, there is a masked girl bleeding on a medical table.

Phil snaps into action, grabbing supplies and cataloguing injuries. "What happened?" he demands.

"I was sk—uhhhhh..." Tommy trails off looking conflicted. His eyes drop down to the body on the table and he sighs. "Skipping. I was skipping class and on a call with Tubbo—you know Tubbo—when I saw a robbery at the jewelry store by the cafe—the nice one with the chicken sandwiches and shit—and I was about to ring one of you to take care of it when I saw the girl go in. Then, hostages and people all ran out, and so I looked closer and the bad guys were all tied up, but Poki was nowhere to be seen. So, I went 'round the back and I found a trail of blood leading to a dumpster, and then I looked inside the dumpster and _BOOM,_ there she was."

 _You did this to yourself_ , he thinks. His strays are taking in strays.

When she wakes up, an incident that involves a lot of screaming and Wilbur getting a fist to the face, she's all smirks and spunk, not even bothered by the bullet wound in her shoulder. 

Poki looks at them—broken men pretending to be whole—and makes herself at home.

The Sleepy Boy title has been gathering dust for over a year. Pokimane takes in the costume and the legacy and all the lingering shadows and thinks, _well, if nobody else will..._

Sleepy Girl is a return of light for the city. The Dynamic Duo, back again, this time with more sass and longer hair. The headlines go from _when will this end?_ to _Sleepy Girl saves fireman from tree_. Hardcore, Silvertongue, and all the rest, they're great—the people adore them—but the Sleepy mantle is one with a special place in the hearts of the citizens.

The new additions to the headline wall look good.

Fundy's visits home increase with these new additions to the family. Phil's sure Wilbur has something to do with it.

He and Tommy oscillate between partners in crime and fierce rivals. Brotherly things.

He and Poki have arguments about seniority—though Poki is a year older, Fundy was here first, so _he_ should get the good seat on movie nights, _tell her, Phil!!!_

The TV declares the Blood God's reign of terror still hasn't stopped. Phil changes the channel and nobody says anything.

Phil doesn't know when he became a beacon for kids with nowhere else to go, because it seems like everyday Craft Manor gets fuller and fuller. (It's okay, he's a billionaire. If the Manor's ridiculous square footage can't hold all his kids, then he'll just buy out the whole city.)

Callum is a friend of Wilbur's who got suspicious at the amount of bathroom breaks his friend could be taking during one lunch meeting. (At the same time, Wilbur was cursing the ridiculous amount of jewelry stores and banks in a nearby radius.)

_"You can't go that way, there are, like, ten dudes in ski masks down that path."_

_"Callum? Oh shit, not Callum, uh, C—Sea—SeaKay—Sea... Seapeekay. Yeah, Seapeekay, what the fuck are you doing here?"_

_"Saving your sorry ass. Let's go."_

It takes the papers a month to realize that this is not the new Sleepy Boy, but rather a new hero completely. But, of course, the damage is already done and Callum is basically one of the Inc. already.

_"Seapeekay. It's three letters. Why can't they get it right?"_

_"It's just not as catchy."_

_"You literally came up with it!"_

_"In the heat of the moment!"_

Phil's not quite sure why Callum stuck around, he's just glad he's here.

Minx is loud, and chaotic, and very, very scary. She fits right in.

_"The fook do you think you're doing asshole? Trying to rob me? No you fookin' aren't."_

_"Uh, do you need help?"_

_"Do I look like some damsel in distress?"_

...

_"Hey, fur boy."_

_"I'm not—"_

_"Look, I threw a rock at the guy that shot you and called the cops, but you need to get out of this dumpster."_

_"Why are you helping me?"_

_"I'm not a damsel, but apparently you are."_

She, unlike the others, never wears the Sleepy title, much preferring to stick to being just a Minx.

* * *

It's an all hands on deck kind of night.

A massive breakout from Nether Asylum. All the worst of the worst. Sleepy City is in a panic and Sleepy Boys Inc. is trying their best to contain it. 

They split off into groups. Silvertongue with Minx. Fox with Sleepy Girl. Seapeekay with Texas and her crew. Hardcore by himself in the belly of the city.

Tommy's on communications and surveillance back at home because as much as Phil wanted him to never, ever get involved, Sleepy City needs all the help it can get tonight.

He's fighting off one of the big hitters from his rogues gallery when he hears the tell-tale sound of a blade.

There's a thud and a few shouts.

"Hardcore," says a voice that tears at his heart.

He doesn't show it, turning to stare stoically at the new arrival. "Blood God."

The rogue gives a wave.

Hardcore narrows his eyes. "What are you doing?"

The other man sighs. "As much as I hate to admit it, we have the same goals, even if we disagree about the methods."

He eyes the sword distastefully. "No killing."

The Blood God glares. "Just for tonight."

They fall into a rhythm. One that's dangerous just for how familiar it feels. 

They're foiling their third world domination plot of the night when it goes sideways.

A bullet flies past his head.

Hardcore whips around, locating the position it came from. He throws a projectile at the shooter, but not before he manages to pull the trigger one more time. He's aiming for Hardcore, but something—someone—gets in the way.

The Blood God takes a bullet meant for Hardcore.

Phil stares in horror as the boy—man—rogue—child, _his child_ goes down.

He falls to his knees next to his prone form.

"Sl—B— _Techno_ ," he says softly, "you..."

"Old habits die hard," his son rasps. His eyes fall shut.

 _No_.

The ride back to the hideout is a rush. The city lights blazing past his windows. The blood seeping into his passenger seat. Tommy's face when he storms in holding their dying enemy. (Except he's not the enemy. He's never been the enemy.)

The hours before Techno wakes up are the worst of his life. Worse than when Wilbur had the flu in eighth grade. Worse than when Fundy tripped off a building and broke his leg. Worse than when Tommy snuck out with Tubbo without telling anyone. Worse than when Poki wandered off during a mission in space. Worse than when Callum got kidnapped.

Worse than when he lost him the first time. (Because his son is here, has been here this whole time, and if he lets him slip away again he will never, ever forgive himself.)

Brown eyes crack open.

"Dad," he whispers.

Phil clutches his hand. "I'm here."

There's so much to talk about. So much blood, and betrayal, and bitterness between them, but all that can come later because right now his son is _home._

* * *

Tommy is 15 when his brothers and sisters sit him down at the table and present to him a box.

Inside is a suit and a mask.

His mouth drops open.

"PogChamp," he whispers reverently, tracing the symbol on the suit.

He looks up to six grinning faces.

"Are you ready, Sleepy Boy?

Even though Phil isn't the hero Sleepy City needs, maybe he's what these kids need.

And maybe, he thinks—watching Wilbur tackle Tommy while Fundy, Pokimane, Minx, and Callum cheer and Techno looks on—maybe he needs them too.

**Author's Note:**

> you can probably tell i know a lot about batman and mcyt but not a lot about laws or medical stuff. the important things, ya know?
> 
> big props to mcyt-quotes on tumblr for reinspiring me to work on this, without her post i probably would have never actually finished this, so big thanks for that


End file.
